


Some Much Needed Advice

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: Ladies Bingo 2020 [5]
Category: Wonderfalls
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Background Relationships, Canon Lesbian Character, Drinking, Gen, Post-Canon, Relationship Advice, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27899362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: She shouldn’t ask. It’s none of her business. Moreover, she doesn’twantit to be any of her business. But frankly, her curiosity is stronger than her desire to stay out of things. At the very least, she wants to know why her sister is invading her time, why she’s shown up out of the blue drunk and, apparently, sad.“Were you crying?” she asks. After a few moments of silence, where it takes all of Jaye’s willpower not to look over and stare her sister down, Sharon sniffles.“Oh damn it,” she says, wiping away the fresh set of tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. “Why did you have to say that? Ijuststopped.”(or, even though she has no idea how her life has come to this point, Jaye gives Sharon some relationship advice).
Relationships: Jaye Tyler & Sharon Tyler
Series: Ladies Bingo 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956031
Kudos: 3
Collections: Ladies Bingo 2020





	Some Much Needed Advice

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 'courtship rituals' square on my [Ladies Bingo 2020](https://ladiesbingo.dreamwidth.org/) bingo card. I don't know how I managed to write a completely platonic thing based on this prompt, but here we are. 
> 
> note that there is one part here that makes reference to Sharon's canonical biphobia (which was _not fun_ to deal with during my recent rewatch), but it's very brief.

Jaye is about to get in bed when she hears the knock on her door. 

Literally – she’s halfway through sitting down. For a moment, she pauses like that, holding a pack of Twizzlers in one hand and the remote for her tiny television in the other. She isn’t expecting anyone tonight – Eric is stuck at The Barrel late doing inventory, and Mahandra is on a date with Aaron (which is still a thing Jaye is trying to get used to). The muses have been quiet too – the lion has done some humming off and on, but she actually doesn’t mind that so much. It makes the trailer feel less quiet. 

The point is that whoever is knocking on her door is infringing upon a night that is supposed to be _hers._

Rude. 

Before she can decide to sit down and ignore it, the knock comes again, louder this time, followed by a voice that she knows all too well. 

“Jaye! I know you’re in there, I saw your shadow on the blinds.” 

“Shit!” Jaye curses, tossing her candy and the remote onto the bed. Sharon being here this late at night, without having texted or called first, definitely bodes badly for her night of relaxation, but if she doesn’t open the door, Sharon is bound to bash it open anyways (it’s not like the lock is that strong anyways) or maybe even pull a spare key from somewhere. At least if she opens the door herself, she can try to exert _some_ kind of control over the situation, marginal though it may be. 

So, with another mutter of _shit_ under her breath, she walks to the other end of the trailer, flicks the lock, and swings the lock open. 

“What?” she says by way of greeting, leaning against the door frame. 

“Well, _hello_ to you too, beloved sister,” Sharon says, stepping into the trailer and shoving by Jaye without an invitation. There’s a slur to her voice, and although it’s faint, Jaye can smell liquor on her, clinging to her long black coat. Once she’s inside, Sharon glances around with a slight frown and asks, “Do you have anything to eat?” 

“Are you seriously drunk?” Jaye responds, pulling the door closed and locking it. She’s been drunk around Sharon more times than she can count, and while this isn’t the first time that the reverse has happened, it’s rare enough that it’s still a bit of novelty to have her straitlaced older sister swaying in the small living area of her trailer, one hand curled around the Formica tabletop for stability. 

While she has no idea why Sharon has come over, she’s cataloguing this incident for future blackmail purposes. 

“No,” Sharon says, but she says it loud enough that Jaye knows her volume control is shot. Sharon’s frown deepens, and she tries again, a little quieter this time, but not by much. “No. Not _super_ drunk at least.” 

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Heading back to her bedroom, Jaye waves a hand at her fridge. “There might be some bologna in there. Knock yourself out.” With that, she picks up where she left off – namely, she drops into bed and turns the television on. While she flicks through channels, eventually settling on the newest season of Survivor, she pulls a Twizzler out of the bag and chomps on it. The plastic wrapping crinkles, and moments later, the fridge slams shut and Sharon wanders in, having discarded her coat and heels somewhere along the way. 

“Gimme one of those,” she demands, dropping down onto the edge of the bed. 

“Get your own,” Jaye reflexively snaps, tightening her grip on the bag. After ten solid seconds of Sharon staring her down with her patented lawyer glare, Jaye huffs out a breath and holds the package out. “Fine. But don’t eat them all! I paid good money for those.” 

“Sure you did.” Sharon edges her way up until she’s leaning against the headboard and thoughtfully chews on her stolen Twizzler. Up close, the alcohol smell is stronger, and Jaye absently notices that her sister’s eyes are puffy and red around the edges. 

She shouldn’t ask. It’s none of her business. Moreover, she doesn’t _want_ it to be any of her business. But frankly, her curiosity is stronger than her desire to stay out of things. At the very least, she wants to know why her sister is invading her time, why she’s shown up out of the blue drunk and, apparently, sad. 

“Were you crying?” she asks. They’re sitting close enough that she feels Sharon’s shoulders stiffen up in reaction to the question, which is really all the answer Jaye needs. After a few moments of silence, where it takes all of Jaye’s willpower not to look over and stare her sister down, Sharon sniffles. 

“Oh damn it,” she says, wiping away the fresh set of tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. “Why did you have to say that? I _just_ stopped.” 

“Oh, so now it’s my fault,” Jaye snaps. “If you’re sensitive enough that just asking about whether you’re crying or not sets you off, maybe you should talk to someone about it. Mom says that Dr. Ron is great. Can’t say I’ve noticed much.” 

Sharon slumps down lower, until her chin is resting on her chest, tears dripping down towards her jaw. She must be drunker than even Jaye thought; there’s no way she would let anyone, especially Jaye, see her like this if she was anywhere close to sober. 

“Beth and I broke up,” she says once she’s finished her Twizzler, hiccupping quietly. “Two days ago.”

“Oh,” Jaye responds, feeling a creeping sense of awkwardness spread over her like a heavy blanket. “Shit. That sucks.” She pauses for a long moment, fishing, waiting to see if Sharon is going to say anything else. When she remains quiet, Jaye sighs and continues, “What happened?” 

“Nothing special,” Sharon answers with a shrug. “She just decided that she wanted to try and patch things up with her ex. You know, that delivery guy.” 

“Yes, I know the delivery guy,” Jaye says. “We almost killed him. Kinda hard to forget.” 

Sharon snorts out a laugh. “Yeah. I’m pissed about it, but I know I shouldn’t be. I didn’t stand a chance from the beginning. Should have known this was going to happen.” 

“Why? It’s not like you can read the future. And don’t say it’s because she’s bi,” Jaye says as Sharon opens her mouth. “Don’t pull that shit.”

“Sorry.” Sharon sighs loudly. “I know you probably don’t care about this, but I can’t really tell anyone else about it. Can you imagine if Aaron found out?” 

“He’d probably gloat for a thousand years. But look, Beth can’t be the only woman in this shithole city that’s attracted to women. It’s statistically impossible.” 

“I _know_.” Sharon groans with frustration and crosses her arms over her chest like a petulant child. “I… I was at a gay bar tonight, before I came here. Over at Envy’s, on Rainbow Boulevard. I thought I might be able to distract myself for a few hours. And the place was packed but I… I couldn’t talk to anyone, Jaye. Every time I tried, I felt like I was choking on my own tongue. But everyone else seemed to be doing fine! It was just me.” Snatching another Twizzler from the bag, she viciously bites off the end. “I don’t get it. Is there something wrong with me? Am I a bad lesbian? Am I doing something wrong?” 

“Look,” Jaye says, muting the television, because the sounds of Jeff Probst yelling at contestants is _really_ not conducive to having a serious conversation (it’s not a conversation she really wants to have, but she’s been dragged into it, mired in it like quicksand, so she might as well embrace it). “I don’t know anything about… lesbian courtship rituals or whatever. I barely even know how straight people end up together. And don’t say anything about Eric, because that’s a weird fluke. But I do know that there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re not broken, and you’re not a bad lesbian, whatever the fuck that means. You’re just a perfectionist.” 

“What does _that_ mean?” 

“It means you’re not used to not being good at something. You can’t just leap head first into dating and expect to know exactly what to do. You’re going to have to fuck up a few times before you figure your shit out. You know, like a normal person.”

“But what if this happens again?” Sharon asks. She doesn’t sound like the driven, overly confident woman that Jaye has alternately been annoyed by and resented since she was a young teenager. She sounds young and _hurt._

“Then you try again. I know it’s easier said than done. But eventually, there will be someone who is worth all the pain that you felt before.” Eric’s face briefly appears in her mind, his kind eyes and his bright smile, and she has to forcibly dislodge the image so that she doesn’t get distracted by daydreaming. “Or so I hear, at least.” 

“You’re turning into a softy,” Sharon says, attempting to poke Jaye in the side – thankfully, she’s able to squirm away, although she almost ends up jammed between the wall and the side of her bed in the process. 

“Am not,” Jaye responds, slapping at Sharon’s hand when she goes for a second attempt. The tears on Sharon’s cheeks are still in the process of drying, but it doesn’t look like there are any more coming, which Jaye is going to count as a small victory. She’s glad that Sharon is starting to feel a little better, but she’s definitely fulfilled her quota of giving out life advice for the night (especially to her older sister, what on earth has happened to her life), so before they can end up going back down that road, she turns the sound back on the television and asks, “Want some ice cream?” 

Unsurprisingly, Sharon nods. 

They end up polishing off a pint of rocky road between them, eating directly from the carton with separate spoons, fighting over who is going to be voted off the island on the episode (neither of them are correct). Once the episode is done, Jaye gathers up the empty carton and their dirty spoons, deposits both into the kitchen sink, and ducks into the bathroom so that she can brush her teeth before bed. 

She intends on asking Sharon if she wants her to call her a cab once she comes back out of the bathroom, but the question dies on her lips once she glances back into the bedroom. Still in all of her clothes, half-slumped against the headboard, Sharon is fast asleep, breathing heavily enough that Jaye can hear her in the hallway. Part of her feels obligated to wake Sharon up, if only because her sleeping position looks tremendously uncomfortable, but in the end, she decides to let her sleep it off. Tiptoeing into the bedroom, she turns off the television and light, grabs her pillow and a spare blanket from the foot of the bed, and heads back out to the living room. Sleeping on the couch will be a tight squeeze, but it won’t be the first time she’s done it. 

As she curls up, she’s able to see down the length of the trailer as Sharon shifts slightly, sliding down the headboard. 

“You better not throw up in my bed,” she says, raising her voice just the slightest. 

In response, all she gets is a snort.

&.

When she wakes up in the morning, the rising sun is shining into her eyes through a crack in the blinds, and the wax lion is talking to her. It takes her a few minutes to make out exactly what he’s saying, but once the words make themselves clear, she _really_ wishes that they hadn’t.

“Help her find the one.” 

With a groan, she pulls her pillow out from underneath her head and slams it over her face, pushing it tight against her ears. Unfortunately, while it does sufficiently muffle the sound of the lion, it also makes it almost impossible to breathe so, long before she’s ready, she pulls it back off her face. 

“Why is that _my_ responsibility?” she hisses, glancing down at the other end of the trailer. At some point in the night, Sharon managed to get herself flat, but she still appears to be passed out, feet hanging off the edge of Jaye’s bed. “She’s the oldest one! She should be giving _me_ relationship advice. Not that I’d listen to her if she did, but it’s the principle of the thing.” 

The lion, who is sitting on her kitchen table, crumpled face illuminated by the sun, stares at her unblinkingly, and for a few moments, she dares to hope that maybe she didn’t actually hear him talk at all. Maybe her dreams just bled into her waking world a bit. 

But then he shakes his head and says, once again, “Help her find the one.” 

Jaye groans again and kicks her blanket away. Ignoring the lion isn’t going to do her any good; it just means that the other animals will take up the call, and she really doesn’t want to be that annoyed, especially not at this time of day. So, before she can lose her resolve, she gets up, slides over to sit at the table, and boots her laptop. Once her internet has kicked on, she types in the name of the bar Sharon apparently spent much of last night at and looks at their hours. 

Apparently, the bar also does brunch on the weekends, brunch that has bottomless mimosas and is well-reviewed. 

Conveniently, Jaye is _starving_. 

With that information in hand, she’s nice enough to let Sharon sleep in for another half hour before she wakes her up by whipping her pillow at Sharon’s head. 

“Get up. We’re going to a gay bar for brunch. I’m your wingman now.” 

The look on Sharon’s exhausted face is nothing less than _priceless_.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
